


If you go down to the woods today....

by scribblemoose



Series: Today's the Day [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, References to Knotting, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:00:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2560580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemoose/pseuds/scribblemoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles goes for a run. He's not alone.</p><p>This takes place a little after the end of S4, so if a 17 year old Stiles is underage for you, consider yourself warned. That's the only reason I didn't use archive warnings. </p><p>With many thanks to Kispexi for the beta, and to the conference that was so boring and badly organised I had no choice but to spend the morning writing porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you go down to the woods today....

On Thursday mornings Stiles has two free periods together, no lacrosse practice and an enforced early start because his dad has his 'Sheriffs of Beacon County' meeting that he hates. Stiles listens to the grumbling-dad noises until finally the front door opens and shuts, and there's just the sound of the house settling into the day. 

The first Thursday he stays in bed, drifting for a while, finally sinking back into delicious sleep only to be woken by Scott, because Scott doesn't have a free period, and thinks it hilarious to text Stiles repeatedly to keep him updated on perfectly ordinary events at school, which Stiles was hoping to enjoy not being a part of. At least until he got there. 

Then the texts stop, and Stiles gets worried, so he rings Scott's number, only to be informed by Ms Morrell that Scott's phone has been confiscated until lunchtime, and that Stiles should have respect for classes even if he's not in them.

Stiles shoves a pillow over his head and fumes until it's time to go to school and yell at Scott. Who, as usual, doesn't listen.

The next Thursday finds Stiles standing by his jeep at the edge of the Preserve not long after dawn. Sunlight streams through the trees, thick with morning mist and spring chill, and Stiles is wearing running shoes and more layers than anyone ever in the history of running has ever worn, because _fuck_ , it's cold. 

But he's awake, wide awake, _too_ awake, buzzing with energy that he knows will cause trouble later in the day if he doesn't expend it now. So he takes a breath of cool morning air, and begins to run. Slow at first, loosening his limbs, steadying his breathing, sinking into a regular, pulsing rhythm. Stiles doesn't often run distances, easily bored, preferring the exhilaration and adrenalin of the sprint: short, intense, a burst of barely-directed chaos. But he is keenly aware of the need to run, and the fact that when he's facing danger with a pack of werewolves (and assorted other supernatural creatures), he's going to be holding them back. He owes it to them, he figures, to be able to run as best he can, even if it will never be fast enough or long enough to keep up with the pack.

So Stiles faces the morning, and runs.

To his surprise he finds that a couple of miles on, he's actually enjoying himself. He notices things: blossom on trees, the crunch of bark and last year's leaves beneath his feet. A small clearing ahead, flooded with sunlight, and a flash of movement, a fleeting blur of black and sapphire.

Stiles slows, stops just inside the clearing. He rolls his shoulders, stretches, keen eyes fixed on the spaces between the trees. He hears a soft growl behind him and the hairs at the back of his neck prickle. 

"Derek?"

He can hear breathing, not human, and slowly turns around. The black wolf looks up at him, blue eyes brilliant, ears perked, tongue lolling out over sharp, white teeth as he pants a little. Stiles barely resists the urge to reach out and pet him, snatching his hand back at the last minute. The wolf snorts.

"You out for a run as well?" says Stiles.

Derek tips his head to one side, and the twitch of his left ear has exactly the same effect as his 'are you really that stupid, Stiles?' eyebrow-raise in human form. Stiles shrugs and goes back to stretching. There's only so much conversation he can make with Derek in this form that won't end up with Stiles skritching Derek's ears, and that way lies a lot of barking and snapping teeth. Stiles is still enjoying the endorphin buzz from running, and doesn't intend to ruin it with a bit of misplaced physical affection.

He registers a change, more than movement, an earth-deep transformation that sparks with Stiles' spark and tells him Derek is shifting.

Stiles looks. Of course he looks.

It's beautiful. Derek flows from one form to another with effortless elegance, like water or syrup or-

Stiles swallows and blinks.

It is also incredibly intimate. 

Not just because human-Derek is naked, but because he is shameless. Confident. Completely at ease in his own skin, whatever form he's in. 

"Looking good, Derek." Stiles' voice cracks on Derek's name.

"You smell good," said Derek.

Stiles stares at him. Derek raises an eyebrow.

"Touché?" Stiles ventures, uncertainly.

Derek smiles, which is dazzling more than it's disconcerting. (Although it's still disconcerting. Very.)

Stiles clears his throat. "So. Running, then?"

"I've been to see Satomi." Derek strolls past Stiles to the centre of the clearing, where he lifts his face to the sun, basking.

"Ah," mumbles Stiles. "I've been running."

"So I saw."

"And smelt."

"Yep."

"I'm gonna sit down now."

Stiles' legs give way, jelly-like, and he sits suddenly on the log behind him. It seems the best thing to do, all things considered. 

He doesn't expect Derek to come and join him, but he does, selecting a patch of grass by Stiles' feet and gracefully sinking to his haunches. 

For fuck's sake, Derek is _naked_ and hanging out with him in the forest, and Stiles can no longer think. It's all weird and yes, nudity and confidence are wonderful things of which he generally approves, but Derek is sculpted like a Greek statue, and it makes it very difficult for Stiles to focus. Or to breathe.

"So." He keeps his eyes firmly on the tree just to Derek's right. "How's Satomi?"

"She's well. Her pack is growing."

Stiles wonders if that means she's finding lost wolves, or making them, or if the ones she has are just getting bigger. "Is she going to stay in Beacon Hills?"

"For the time being. She needs to rest and rebuild. She nearly lost everything."

"You're very naked."

Stiles says it aloud because it's right there wriggling about in the front of his mind and he can't _not_ say it. 

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Does it bother you?"

"Well, no. Not bother, exactly. It's just a little distracting."

"You've seen me naked before."

"That's different. It's usually been indoors and there were reasons and stuff."

"Reasons?"

"Reasons."

"Like because we were having sex, that sort of reason?"

Stiles' cheeks go hot. "Could be that sort of reason, on certain occasions, yes."

"Do you want to have sex now?"

Stiles stares at Derek - Derek's face, very much his face, nothing else - and tries to form the word 'no'. He gets as far as putting his tongue to the roof of his mouth before he gives up and tells the truth in a very heartfelt, enthusiastic, "Yes."

"You do?" Derek remained calm, although there's a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.

"Yes. Of course I do, I'm a healthy teenager and you're a very… healthy person."

"Healthy, eh?"

"Absolutely. The very picture of health. You exude health from every pore. And if you don't want to have sex with me right now could you please put your clothes on? Because it's shallow of me, but it's very hard to think or hold a normal conversation sitting here looking at you being so… healthy."

"I don't have any clothes with me," Derek says. "They fall off when I transform, so I don't-"

"Oh for the love of God," mutters Stiles, and kisses him.

Derek makes a surprised 'mphff' sound, but a second later he's kissing Stiles right back. 

Stiles falls off the log. But Derek catches him, pulling Stiles easily into his lap. Stiles fidgets until he's straddling Derek's thighs, looping his arms around Derek's neck and kissing Derek's soft, warm mouth. He can smell the earth and the trees, feel the sun on his back through his t-shirt, and his sweatshirt, and his hoodie. Because he's still wearing his clothes, and Derek isn't, and suddenly that doesn't feel right.

He pauses the kiss long enough to tug his shirts off, with Derek's help, and then Derek's hands are on Stiles' skin, broad across his spine, and that feels so much better.

Derek hums words into Stiles' neck. "You feel good." Presses his lips and tongue into the sensitive spot behind Stiles' ear. Stiles arches his neck into it, letting a delicious shiver run down his spine. 

"Yeah." He kisses Derek's jaw, his mouth. "You too."

Derek's hands slide down Stiles' back, push his jogging pants down over his ass. There's something about the fresh air on his skin that feels pleasantly naughty. Risky, and just a bit slutty, even. He likes it a lot. He goes easily when Derek tugs him closer, letting out a gasp when it brings his erection right up firm against Derek's. 

Stiles looks down between their bodies, forehead resting on Derek's broad, strong shoulder. Derek's cock is rubbing at Stiles' through thin grey fabric, his foreskin shifting, the head damp at the tip. Stiles wants to be naked. He wants to feel skin against skin, heat against heat. He looks up at Derek, wondering how he can make the naked happen without stopping what they're doing, because what they're doing feels so, so good.

"Kneel," says Derek, his breathing surprisingly fast and shallow. Stiles goes up on his knees and Derek tugs down his pants and underwear. Then he says, "Stand," and Stiles does his best on shaky legs. It's all a bit complicated, with shoes and socks and whatnot tangling around his ankles, but Derek is suddenly a genius and soon Stiles stands clothes-free in the dappled light of the clearing, surrounded by budding trees and fresh-green grass, new life everywhere, with Derek's hands on his ass again, pulling him, this time bringing Stiles' cock right up to Derek's face. Stiles stares down as Derek opens his mouth and sucks him in, leaving Stiles gasping air like a landed fish as he watches his cock slide between Derek's soft, damp lips.

As soon as Stiles is as far in as Derek can take him, the head of his cock bumping the back of Derek's throat, Derek gives him a little tap on his ass. Permission. Derek is giving Stiles permission to fuck his mouth. 

"Oh God." Stiles doesn't need to be told twice. He rolls his hips, fingertips just touching Derek's shoulders, balancing himself; he slides easily in and out, perfect, slow, staring at Derek's flushed cheeks and stretched lips. Derek looks up at Stiles and winks like they're sharing a secret, and Stiles makes a whimpering, keening sort of noise that would be hilarious if it wasn't simply the only way he could articulate how amazing this feels.

Derek's hands move down to cup Stiles' ass, a finger slipping between his cheeks to tease his hole. Stiles realises he's holding his breath, overwhelmed with sensation and the extraordinary permission Derek is giving him, the intimacy of it. Stiles stops thrusting and runs a shaking fingertip across Derek's lips, slips a finger in Derek's mouth, sliding along his own cock. All that wet heat, and Derek sucks gently, tongue fluttering under Stiles' dick. 

"Oh God," whispers Stiles. "That feels so…"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Derek shows his understanding with a tiny nod, a squeeze of Stiles' ass. Stiles strokes Derek's hair, brushes his thumb along one perfect cheekbone, and pulls back. As soon as his cock slips from Derek's mouth Stiles drops to his knees and kisses him tenderly, a thank you, a pause. He reaches between them and takes Derek's hard cock in his hand, gives him a few pulls, just enough to take the edge off and give Stiles time to calm down a bit. It would have been so easy to come down Derek's throat but he wants more, wants this to last. Wants it to mean something. 

"Wait," says Derek, and Stiles realises he's not the only one getting carried away - or the only one who wants to take his time. Derek looks wrecked: wide-eyed, lips swollen, chest heaving with panting breaths. 

"So fucking hot," he gasps against Derek's jaw, Derek's beard surprisingly soft, as Derek mouths at his ear. "Fuck."

"Lie down," says Derek. "I want to…."

He gives Stiles a little push and Stiles goes willingly, happy to trust that, based on recent experience, pretty much anything Derek wants to do to him will be pretty amazing. Stiles sinks onto his back and Derek lies on top of him, taking his weight mostly on one arm so as not to crush him. They kiss and Derek grinds his hips into Stiles', his cock hot and heavy, nuzzling against Stiles' belly, then his balls, the top of his thigh; the soft, sensitive places, the trust-earned places, that make Stiles tingle. They move together, and it's good, very good, but not quite enough. Derek slides his hand down between them and touches Stiles' cock; Stiles does the same to him. They tease, and rock, and finally close hands around each other and get serious about it. There isn't much room but that doesn't matter at all; there's friction, glorious, blissful friction and plenty of it, and Stiles finds his senses overwhelmed by Derek's incredible body, by the tang of his sweat, the sound of him panting, breath hot against Stiles' cheek. Then Derek lets out a long groan and comes, spurting over Stiles' hand and belly and dick, and now it's all sticky-slick and Derek just _keeps_ coming, and Stiles reaches for the root of Derek's cock and feels the swelling there and _fuck_. 

He wonders what that would feel like inside him. And that's it.

Stiles comes in hot, tight pulses, arching up, and it's almost painful to come this hard, except that then it's not. It's languid, sliding in Derek's hand, everything wet and the last few spurts of Stiles' come joining the mess between their bodies. Derek strokes Stiles' face with sticky fingers and Stiles actually likes it; he feels complete release, blisses out. Content.

He nuzzles Derek's cheek to claim a kiss. Derek's lips and tongue are gentle, soothing. Amazing. Everything is-

"Amazing," Stiles says, out loud.

"Uh-huh." Derek rolls onto his back, pulling Stiles half on top of him. Sun-warmed and sleepy, oddly comfortable despite the fact they are sprawled out on the ground. 

A question builds in Stiles' mind, growing from idle wondering to burning curiosity to full-on must know in a remarkably short period of time.

"So," Stiles says eventually. "It's not just your wolf-form that changed, then, is it?"

"A lot of things have changed, Stiles."

"Yes, that's true. And one of them is your dick. So what's up with that?"

To Stiles' delight, Derek's cheeks go pink. He's honest-to-God blushing.

"Does it happen every time?" Stiles asks.

"Stiles, you're asking really personal questions."

Stiles shrugged. "We just had sex in the middle of the forest. That's pretty damn personal. Oh, come on, Derek, I just want to know. You know how much all these little werewolf facts mean to me."

Derek sighed. "Yes, it's new; no, it doesn't happen every time. Happy?"

"So what made it happen this time? Is your dick ultra-excited by the Stiles' lovin'? Because that would be totally understandable."

"Sorry, no. It's the full moon tonight, that's all."

"Oh. Well, okay. It's still fascinating."

Stiles rolls onto his back, staring up at the deep blue sky, in stark contrast to the silhouettes of the branches and the white fluffy clouds. 

"So, I have another question," says Stiles.

"What a surprise," mutters Derek.

"Can I stop by the loft some day? On a full moon? Because I'd kinda love it if you fucked me with that thing."

Derek makes a startled noise. Stiles glances at him; Derek's eyes are wide and in a second he's on top of Stiles, kissing him frantically. Stiles tries to keep up with him, enjoying the rush of it. But Derek rolls off him again just as suddenly; he's kneeling on all fours, looking at Stiles like he wants to eat him up.

In a good way.

"Come to the loft at seven," Derek says. "Bring a toothbrush, you might want to stay the night."

The air around Derek shimmers; he closes his eyes and flows easily into full-wolf right in front of Stiles. Stiles reaches out and touches thick black fur for a second, before Derek turns and runs.

Stiles sits, alone, suddenly aware with a flutter of panic that he probably should have been at school ages ago. He gets to his feet and finds his clothes, pulls them on. He's going to be very late, because he'll need to run home and take a shower before he can even think of being with people again. 

He doesn't care. He'll have time to fit in detention and still be at Derek's for seven.

Stiles sets off at an easy jog, thinking of Derek and the full moon and soft, black fur, and smiles.

*


End file.
